


Sweet Nightingale

by itsclppingbitch



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M, ben is a nurse, george is not having a good time, the dog dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 21:29:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9258047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsclppingbitch/pseuds/itsclppingbitch
Summary: The Florence Nightingale effect is a situation where a caregiver develops romantic and/or sexual feelings for his/her patient, even if very little communication or contact takes place outside of basic care. Feelings may fade once the patient is no longer in need of care, either by recovery or death.





	

George was drowning.

It was the only plausible explanation for the brilliant shade of blue that he could see above him. And it accounted for the fact that he couldn’t seem to get his lungs to work properly. He felt something soft and warm brush against his cheek and lips and closed his eyes. Probably a drifting piece of seaweed, or a fish that had wandered to close to the shore. He could feel the tide tugging on one of his legs and he relaxed into the pull, letting it take him further out. It wasn’t a bad way to die, he supposed. He only felt peace. He’d lived a good life. He’d done good deeds. Alexander and Gilbert were grown men, they didn’t need his support anymore. He could let the tide take him.

He felt something brush against his mouth again and then suddenly, he could taste the sea breeze. Hot, a little stagnant, an undertone of coconut. He felt something smack against his chest, but couldn’t seem to find the energy to look down or stop it. Then another rush of the ocean air. He lost track of how many times the wind seemed to rush down his throat before he choked and spluttered on his own, trying to cough up the seawater in his lungs. He drew in a few ragged breaths on his own before he slipped under, thoughts on a blue, blue ocean.

 

* * *

 The ocean, as it turned out, was not an ocean at all, but a pair of eyes belonging to a kind nurse named Benjamin.

Benjamin had been the nurse on call when a drunk driver coming up the wrong way had hit George head on and caused his car to slam into the highway median, crushing his car into the wall. Had it not been for the quick-responding EMTs and the perseverance of Benjamin and the doctors when he’d arrived at the hospital, George would not have survived.

That’s what the doctor told him anyway, in between doses of pain medication when he was coherent enough to understand it. He can’t remember the details of the accident, anyway. Whether it’s the drugs, a bout of amnesia, or he’s simply blocked the trauma from his mind, he’s not sure. He doesn’t think it matters much, anyway.

He’s not sure he wants to have survived, now that he’s lying in the hospital bed. He knows he’s fortunate. The accident should have killed him. He’s sure his tiny, broken family will be grateful that he was spared, but he’s also fairly certain that his tiny, broken family doesn’t know anything happened to him in the first place. He’s been unconscious for four days, and nobody’s here now, so he doubts anybody is coming.

His emergency contact is Martha, but she’d changed her number and he’s never gotten around to updating it. Besides, she’s in Virginia. He couldn’t ask her to make that drive. Gilbert is back in France with his wife and their children, and Alexander is upstate with his new wife. He couldn’t possibly bother them with something like this. Especially because he knows he’s going to be here a while. What are Alexander and Eliza going to do if he asks them to come out? They’ll sit around and wait for him to finish healing, make sure he gets home safely, and then leave again.

He’s used to functioning alone. That’s what he tells himself, anyway. He can handle being alone in the hospital room. He can handle the insurance and the red tape that will inevitably come up. He has Uber on his phone, he can call for a car when they eventually let him go. They haven’t started him on hospital food yet, he’s much too weak for that, but he’s sure it can’t be worse than what they fed him in the Army.

Most importantly, he has his blue eyed nurse to take care of him. He’s not entirely sure that Benjamin goes home, or sleeps. Every time he opens his eyes between his drug-induced dozing, he can make out those incredibly blue eyes checking his vitals, smiling at him, talking to him. He can’t make out much of what he’s saying. Whatever drugs they have him on are good, and his whole head feels like it’s been replaced with cotton.

_Or perhaps seawater_ , he thinks to himself, just a bit wryly. Benjamin doesn’t seem to mind that he doesn’t respond, or really acknowledge that he’s talking. He chatters away as he works, clearly devoted to making sure George is comfortable and healing. If this bright young man can work round the clock to provide him the best care imaginable, then George supposes the least he can do is survive.

 

* * *

 

_It was cold, because his air conditioning was broken and he’d had to roll his windows down. It wasn’t much of a bother, though, as Vulcan had taken to lying across his lap so he could still his nose out the window. He wasn’t older than six months, but was already large enough to take up part of the console and George’s entire lap. He idly scratched behind the dog’s ears, smiling as the dog thumped his tail against the passenger’s seat. They were coming back from a hike in the mountains, and the poor beast was exhausted from running around and chasing anything with a pulse._

_He stopped briefly at a diner on the way home, sitting outside at one of the picnic tables despite the chill. He didn’t want to leave Vulcan alone in the car, partially because he didn’t think that was fair on the pup, and partially because the last time he’d tried it, he’d gotten scared and had wetted the upholstery. He ate quietly and quickly, feeding the dog a bit of burger and a few fries before getting back into the car for the remaining leg of the drive._

_When they went hiking, he tended to take the backroads to avoid traffic. He liked the fresh air, the way he could go for miles without seeing another car, the scattered deer and raccoons he’d see lining the edges of the woods. But they’d stayed out late, and the traffic normally cleared out by this time, so he decided to take the more direct route. They were both tired, and he had an early start to his day tomorrow. The Farmer’s Market usually opened around seven, and he needed to make sure his produce and honey were set up before the early customers wandered up._

_Vulcan lifted his head to look at George for a moment before leaning up to lick his cheek. George scoffed softly, rubbing his side and letting the pup give him a few kisses before he settled back down again, staring out the window at the passing cars. He kept petting him as the sped up, only a few exits away from home. George frowned as headlights flashed off to his right and he shifted his gaze to see a car coming down the ramp the wrong way. He swore and swerved desperately, but it didn’t seem to make a difference as the truck slammed into him, knocking him across three lanes of traffic and into the median wall._

_There was a terrible crunching noise as the metal warped around him. Glass shattered around him and he heard a horrible squeal as Vulcan was wrenched from his lap and thrown out through the windshield. He distantly noticed a high pitched screaming, only to realize a few moments later it was coming from him as he shifted in his seat, trying to get out through the windshield to his dog. He looked down and saw his leg was crushed between two pieces of metal from where his car had folded around him. His gaze slowly shifted upwards again and saw his dog lying on the pavement in front of him, bleeding and panting miserably as Vulcan squirmed closer to the car, eyes locked on George’s . And then he lost consciousness._

* * *

 

George is already screaming when he wakes up, sitting bolt upright and then cringing backwards into the bed again when the pain overwhelms him. Benjamin’s already there, putting a hand on his shoulder and soothing him gently.

“My dog, where’s my dog?” he sobs incoherently, still fighting against Benjamin’s grip. He needs to leave, he needs to find his dog. “He was in the car with me, where’s my dog? Where’s Vulcan?”

Benjamin stares down at him with wide eyes. “George, calm down. You need to calm down. I’m right here. Please, you’re going to hurt yourself if you don’t settle down. Deep breaths, just like that, good job, in and out,” he says, voice soft and soothing. George lets out another noise he’ll never admit to later, panting softly as he grips onto Benjamin’s arm. “Where’s Vulcan?” he asks again, already seeing the answer in the man’s eyes.

“I’m sorry. They said the dog was already gone when they arrived on scene,” Benjamin whispers, smoothing down a few stray hairs and wiping the sweat from George’s forehead. “You need to not worry about that right now, George. You need to focus on healing. We don’t want your leg to get infected.”

“My leg?” George asks weakly, thoughts clearly still on the dog. “What’s wrong with my leg?”

“Oh, Christ. You... You have been pretty out of it,” Benjamin replies quietly. “It figures you wouldn’t have realized.”  
  
“Realized...” George swallows, looking down at the bed. His eyes focus on the lack of shape where his right calf and foot are supposed to be under the sheets.

“They had to amputate, there was no chance they could have saved it,” Benjamin tells him. “I’m so sorry.” He watches as Benjamin’s hand moves towards the machine pumping him full of morphine. He presses a button on it and George starts to feel warm and sleepy again. He looks up at the nurse, giving him a small smile as Benjamin strokes through his hair. “I’m going to take care of you, George. I promise,” he hears him say.

George falls asleep.

He dreams of the ocean again.


End file.
